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Authors: Nicholas Evans
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hurried on, trying to soften it.
“I mean, how can any of us know? She’s been missing so long, we don’t know what might have been going on.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Cooper,” Charlie Riggs said gently. “It has to be another possibility we can’t yet rule out.” She could tell he was getting the measure of how things stood between her and Benjamin. He probably already had her down as a prize bitch. She would have to get a grip and curb her tongue.
“Anyhow,” the sheriff went on. “I want you to know that this is a top priority. We’re going to keep going up there while the snow starts to melt. Hopefully we’ll find something that’ll help build us a picture of what happened.”
If either of them wanted to go see where Abbie was found, he said a little awkwardly, he would be happy to show them. Benjamin thanked him and said he might well come back in a week or two to do that. How absurd and pointless, Sarah thought but managed to stop herself from saying. She couldn’t think of anything worse—except seeing the body itself, which they were planning to do later, though she wasn’t at all sure she could handle it.
The sheriff seemed about to say something else when the waitress arrived with the food. If so, he thought better of it and not a lot more was said while he and Benjamin ate. Sarah had ordered some wheat toast but didn’t even touch it. What she really craved was a cigarette but she wasn’t about to dent her dignity further by stepping out into the rain to have one.
When they had finished, Charlie Riggs said that if they didn’t mind, he would take them along to the Federal Building on Pattee Street to meet the local FBI agent who had a few routine questions to ask them which might help them all find out what happened to Abbie. Sarah said that would be fine. Then, looking a little uncomfortable, he reached for the plastic bag beside him.
“These are the clothes your daughter was wearing when we found her,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d want them, but one of the girls in the office washed and ironed them. The jacket’s torn pretty bad. In the fall, I guess. Anyhow.”
He handed the bag to Benjamin, who instead of just thanking him and putting it to one side, pulled out the red ski jacket and opened it up. Sarah could see his eyes filling as he looked at it. For heaven’s sake, she thought. Not here, not now. If he lost control, she would surely follow. She silently reached across and took the jacket from him and stuffed it back into the bag.
Charlie Riggs cleared his throat.
“There’s one other important thing I haven’t yet told you,” he said. His voice was grave and he paused as if searching for the right words.
“Something they discovered in the autopsy that you probably didn’t know. At the time of her death, Abbie was two months pregnant.”
Over the years, Charlie had met more than a few FBI agents and had gotten along fine with nearly all of them. There had been one or two who came on too strong or a little patronizing but the rest had always been courteous and decent and good at their jobs. Jack Andrews, the last one he’d had dealings with in the Missoula office and whom the Coopers had met when their daughter first disappeared, Charlie had liked a lot. But his successor, this young upstart Wayne Hammler, was something else.
They had been sitting in his stuffy little office for most of an hour and during that time he had barely let anyone else get a word in edgewise. Even with his GI’s haircut and snappy blue blazer, he looked about fifteen years old. Maybe that was why he felt he had to pontificate to them like a pompous polecat. Right now he was giving the Coopers a speech about interagency synergy and forensic information analysis systems, whatever the hell they were. All he’d really done so far was go through again what Charlie had already told them. Mr. Cooper still seemed to be listening politely, but for the last ten minutes his
“I mean, how can any of us know? She’s been missing so long, we don’t know what might have been going on.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Cooper,” Charlie Riggs said gently. “It has to be another possibility we can’t yet rule out.” She could tell he was getting the measure of how things stood between her and Benjamin. He probably already had her down as a prize bitch. She would have to get a grip and curb her tongue.
“Anyhow,” the sheriff went on. “I want you to know that this is a top priority. We’re going to keep going up there while the snow starts to melt. Hopefully we’ll find something that’ll help build us a picture of what happened.”
If either of them wanted to go see where Abbie was found, he said a little awkwardly, he would be happy to show them. Benjamin thanked him and said he might well come back in a week or two to do that. How absurd and pointless, Sarah thought but managed to stop herself from saying. She couldn’t think of anything worse—except seeing the body itself, which they were planning to do later, though she wasn’t at all sure she could handle it.
The sheriff seemed about to say something else when the waitress arrived with the food. If so, he thought better of it and not a lot more was said while he and Benjamin ate. Sarah had ordered some wheat toast but didn’t even touch it. What she really craved was a cigarette but she wasn’t about to dent her dignity further by stepping out into the rain to have one.
When they had finished, Charlie Riggs said that if they didn’t mind, he would take them along to the Federal Building on Pattee Street to meet the local FBI agent who had a few routine questions to ask them which might help them all find out what happened to Abbie. Sarah said that would be fine. Then, looking a little uncomfortable, he reached for the plastic bag beside him.
“These are the clothes your daughter was wearing when we found her,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d want them, but one of the girls in the office washed and ironed them. The jacket’s torn pretty bad. In the fall, I guess. Anyhow.”
He handed the bag to Benjamin, who instead of just thanking him and putting it to one side, pulled out the red ski jacket and opened it up. Sarah could see his eyes filling as he looked at it. For heaven’s sake, she thought. Not here, not now. If he lost control, she would surely follow. She silently reached across and took the jacket from him and stuffed it back into the bag.
Charlie Riggs cleared his throat.
“There’s one other important thing I haven’t yet told you,” he said. His voice was grave and he paused as if searching for the right words.
“Something they discovered in the autopsy that you probably didn’t know. At the time of her death, Abbie was two months pregnant.”
Over the years, Charlie had met more than a few FBI agents and had gotten along fine with nearly all of them. There had been one or two who came on too strong or a little patronizing but the rest had always been courteous and decent and good at their jobs. Jack Andrews, the last one he’d had dealings with in the Missoula office and whom the Coopers had met when their daughter first disappeared, Charlie had liked a lot. But his successor, this young upstart Wayne Hammler, was something else.
They had been sitting in his stuffy little office for most of an hour and during that time he had barely let anyone else get a word in edgewise. Even with his GI’s haircut and snappy blue blazer, he looked about fifteen years old. Maybe that was why he felt he had to pontificate to them like a pompous polecat. Right now he was giving the Coopers a speech about interagency synergy and forensic information analysis systems, whatever the hell they were. All he’d really done so far was go through again what Charlie had already told them. Mr. Cooper still seemed to be listening politely, but for the last ten minutes his
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